


Speechless

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Car Accidents, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I've been reading too many Harry/Eggsy post-V Day fics, Pain, Poor Mark, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, What-If, When words won't do, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark receives a phone call that Bridget has been in a car accident, and he can't quite process his own emotions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For sortofsluttymoth on Tumblr--letter J from [this prompt post](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/152728729755/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write). "When words aren't enough." I'm still taking requests if you want to send me one :)

Mark stood in the corner of the hospital room, unaware of what to do with his body. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and he was numbly standing with his shoulders hunched. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Bridget’s face, the peacefulness that had settled onto her brow. She was hooked up to tubes and heart monitors, her eyes closed and her breathing steady, if labored. 

He had received the phone call almost two hours ago that Bridget had been in a car accident. She was on her way to a location in a news van with Sit Up Britain, they said. Someone had drifted into their lane on the highway, they said. The driver of the Sit Up Britain van was still young, “wet behind the ears”, and didn’t realize the problem until the last moment. The van had flipped three times. Don’t panic, they said. She had survived and was stable, being rushed to a hospital close to Reading. She had asked for him, they said, and had wanted to know where he was. 

Mark had kept his replies clipped and crisp, trying to not let the tide of emotion roll over into his voice. Shakily, he had taken down the address of the hospital she was being rushed to, mentally trying to calculate how long it would take him to get there if he just sped the entire way. Never in his 20 years as a barrister had he ever left the office without notifying someone, but he did then. Picked his jacket right up, left his briefcase where it was, and walked straight out of Inns of Court without saying a word to anyone.

Now, here he was, looking at his darling Bridget, the lump in his throat threatening to never go away. He had been afraid to approach her bedside--he didn’t want to wake her, and he was afraid of what he would do if he got too close. The problems Mark solved were logical ones, and this was a visceral, raw problem that needed much more than rationale. It needed calmness and a steady hand, which he wasn’t sure he could guarantee--his hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the phone call, which is why they hadn’t left his pockets since he arrived. 

Bridget’s leg had been broken, but all of her scans had come back negative for anything more serious. She had a few scratches on her face, and he wanted to go over and run his fingers over them, erase them with his mind, but he couldn’t move. The gentle beep of the monitors sliced through the room as he watched her chest rise and fall. Within the hour that he had been standing there, he had started and stopped counting the number of breaths she took several times, trying to focus on the fact that she was even breathing. Her hands lay at her sides, the glint of her engagement ring occasionally catching the fluorescent lighting in the room. 

Mark desperately wanted to take her hand in his and hold it, murmuring words of encouragement and love to her, the way he was supposed to. But he was rooted to the floor. He wanted to scoop her up, bring her home, and wrap him in one of her favorite jumpers that she'd stolen from him. He would hold her, his lips pressed against her temple, as he murmured all of the things he wanted to say in this moment--”Bridget, I love you more than anything in this world. This has been the scariest day of my life and I never want to know what losing you feels like. Please, never leave.”

Yet, here they were in the stark, clinical space of the hospital room. Bridget wasn't cozy in his jumper--rather she was wearing the paper thin hospital robe, lying underneath the scratchy, thin blankets. She wasn't wrapped in his arms, his heart thumping against her body as he gently kissed her temple. Instead, she was across the room, the vision of resilience and independence.  _ Why would she ever need me _ , a needling voice said at the back of Mark’s brain.  _ I'm useless. _

Mark shifted the weight of his body and let out a sigh. He ran a hand down his ashen face, annoyed at himself for his lack of coping. He hadn't noticed the door to the room open as a nurse came in to check on Bridget. Her presence startled Mark as she entered the room, a clipboard in her hands. 

“Hello. Are you Mark?” she asked quietly. She gave him a look, clearly confused as to why he was still standing across the room, his hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets and his tie loose. 

He cleared his throat. “I am,” he said. 

“Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm glad you were able to make it.” The nurse approached the bed to take Bridget's vitals. Mark felt himself panic--what if she woke Bridget up? “You know, you're the only one she kept asking for when they brought her in. Even as we told her that she was fine but broke her leg, all she kept saying was, ‘Oh good. Has anyone spoken to Mark? Is he on his way?’” 

Mark felt his throat constrict.  _ She wanted me.  _ He watched the nurse in silence as she took Bridget’s pulse. Bridget barely stirred. Mark cleared his throat again. “Why, um...why isn't she waking up?” he asked in a gravelly voice. 

The nurse looked at him as she held Bridget’s limp wrist in her hand. “They've given her a painkiller and a sedative. She'll be out for a while.” She laid Bridget's hand down on the mattress to write down the numbers on her chart. “You know,” she said as she wrote, “you  _ can  _ stand over here. You won't bother her. I know it's a lot when someone you love is in an accident and you can't really process what's going on, but it's probably the best thing for the patient to wake up to a familiar face after a traumatic experience. Truly, you won't bother her.” 

She smiled at Mark, sliding her pen into the clamp of the clipboard. “Thank you,” he said, finally taking his hands out of his pockets. 

“No problem, love. She's very lucky to have you, and you are  _ very  _ lucky to have her. I wish someone loved me like that.” 

Mark gave her a weak smile, tears threatening to come forth. “Thank you again,” he said in a strangled voice. The nurse gave him a nod and walked out of the room. 

Mark took a steadying breath. He wiped the sweat from his palms on the front of his trousers, then ran a hand through his disheveled hair.  _ She wanted me.  _ He closes his eyes, trying to calm himself.  _ I'm the one she wants. Me.  _ He took a step towards the hospital bed, then stopped. He watched for any sign that he woke her up, but she laid in peaceful repose. He took another step. Still, nothing. 

Mark then strode across the room, all of his fears and apprehension fueling his desire to now feel Bridget's hand in his. He now stood next to her bed, looking down at her face. The scratches were deeper than he had thought. He raised a shaking hand to run a finger across a particularly nasty one across Bridget's cheek. Bridget let out a small groan, but didn't wake. Mark allowed himself to push some of the hair off of her brow, gently caressing her face with the back of his broad hand. 

His breathing had become more labored as he fought against the sadness and fear that had lodged in his chest. “My darling Bridget,” he whispered. Her hand was still next to her on the mattress, and Mark slid his own on top of hers. He allowed his long fingers to encase the small, birdlike frame of her hand, and he shakily brought it up to his lips. 

He kept it there, his eyes closed as he memorized the feeling of her hand against his lips. His breath had not calmed as he valiantly fought against the emotions rolling around inside of him. Mark kissed the soft, smooth skin on the back of her hand. 

“Mark?” a bleary voice said. Mark opened his eyes to find Bridget awake, her eyes slits but looking directly at him. “Oh, Mark, you’re here.” 

“Bridget,” he said in a strangled voice. “Yes, darling, I’m here.”

Bridget gave him a smile, the drugs and her emotions clearly mixed. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’m so sorry, Mark. This has been the scariest day, and all I could think about was you...I couldn’t live with myself if something worse had happened and left you alone.”

Still completely choked by emotion, Mark couldn’t find the words to say to her. All of the inner monologue he had ran through earlier couldn’t reach his lips. His brow furrowed as a frown came across his face. The emotions that he had been suppressing all day, shoving down into his chest so that they roiled and rocked in his stomach, threatened to come forth. He brought his other hand up to encase Bridget’s hand in both of his, and he leaned his forehead against Bridget’s temple.

Instead of speaking, Mark let out a sob. It wasn’t a loud sob, or a grief-stricken one, but rather one of relief. The tears that he had fought against all day sprang forth as he continued to cry, relieved that Bridget was safe, but also thankful that he was in love with such a selfless, amazing woman. 

He felt Bridget’s arm come up and around his shoulders as she pulled him into an embrace, and he allowed himself to be held by her. Mark sat on the edge of her bed, leaning against the pillow next to her as he gently brought his arms around her person. He brought his feet up onto the bed, lying next to her. He could feel the warmth and the weight of her body next to his, and a fresh sob escaped from his lips. Bridget soothingly pet the back of his head as he cried into her neck, murmuring all of the things to him that he had wanted to say to her. 

“There, there. I’m here. Just a little broken leg is all. I know,” she whispered. 

Words wouldn't do justice to the emotion Mark felt. Instead, he just let himself cry in her arms, thankful for the chance to feel her embrace another day.


End file.
